I gain a perverse pleasure from cleaning my computer mouse at work. It's the same type of feeling you get from peeling scabs. There's all kinds of human skin and hair crud that gets into the seams and scroll wheel to extract. It's gotten less satisfying since the company decided to finally get into 1999 and go optical. Now, I cannot disembowel it, and watch the pointer twitch as I scrape detritus from the inside sensor wheels.

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"
"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."
"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

I may be kindly, I am ordinarily gentle, but in my line of business I am obliged to will terribly what I will at all.~ Catherine the Great